I've decided I want to have more encouraging words in my vocabulary. I know there are a bunch already there but I may have forgotten one or two along the way of living. So, for Saturday entries in my blog, I'm going to have "Encouraging Words."
I found these words on a set of scrapbooking cards by Autumn Leaves. There is an encouraging word for each letter of the alphabet. The only problem is that I couldn't find the ones for A-I. I've only got the ones for J-Z. :(
But that's okay, I have another list that I can use to cover those letters. :) The definitions come from my Webster's Quick Reference Dictionary Notebook.
(Father God, thank you for the encouraging words that you provide in scripture. I pray that you will use these words to bless others. In the name of Jesus I pray, Amen.)
Friday, July 15, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Gravel Road, Paved Road
My husband and I live in the city. It's not a huge city and it's close to the country but it is still "in town." We have a small garden spot about 12 miles from our house because our lot is too small to have a garden on it. In order to get to the garden, we travel on paved roads and gravel roads.
Several days ago as we were happily traveling along, the gravel road shook us. Now, our little Ford Escape has been a tremendous blessing and we appreciate the job that it does for us. As we traveled down the gravel road, our Escape groaned and worked and squeaked and rattled and labored. The noise filled our ears like the roar of much rushing water. We gritted our teeth and finally reached our destination.
We quickly checked the squash plants for bugs. Ugh. We harvested a few tomatoes. We observed the jalapeno peppers developing. We lamented the lack of blooms on our okra. We were surprised by the sunflower that had blossomed. We dusted the corn in an effort to cut down on worms and fertilized everything for the first time this season. We labored. No, it was not intensive labor but we worked. Then, it was time to head back home.
We gritted our teeth as the Escape groaned, worked, squeaked, rattled and labored back down the gravel road. Again, the noise filled our ears nearly drowning out everything else. Then one final section of rough gravel and we were on the pavement. And the silence was deafening. No more groaning, no more squeaking, no more rattle, there was just the quiet hum of the tires.
As we traveled I reflected on it all. When our lives are on a gravel, bumpy, washed-out path, do we squeak and rattle and groan to God? Then, when our lives are on the smooth path, are we silent? Sadly, I could only answer the questions with, "Yes." When trials and tests come our way, we spend many hours in prayer telling God what we want and asking Him to fix everything. But when things are going the way we want, we don't take the time to talk with Him at all.
(Father God, please forgive me when I forget that you are the provider of the smooth path. Help me to remember you in the good times and to thank you for them during them. In the name of Jesus, I pray. Amen.)
Several days ago as we were happily traveling along, the gravel road shook us. Now, our little Ford Escape has been a tremendous blessing and we appreciate the job that it does for us. As we traveled down the gravel road, our Escape groaned and worked and squeaked and rattled and labored. The noise filled our ears like the roar of much rushing water. We gritted our teeth and finally reached our destination.
We quickly checked the squash plants for bugs. Ugh. We harvested a few tomatoes. We observed the jalapeno peppers developing. We lamented the lack of blooms on our okra. We were surprised by the sunflower that had blossomed. We dusted the corn in an effort to cut down on worms and fertilized everything for the first time this season. We labored. No, it was not intensive labor but we worked. Then, it was time to head back home.
We gritted our teeth as the Escape groaned, worked, squeaked, rattled and labored back down the gravel road. Again, the noise filled our ears nearly drowning out everything else. Then one final section of rough gravel and we were on the pavement. And the silence was deafening. No more groaning, no more squeaking, no more rattle, there was just the quiet hum of the tires.
As we traveled I reflected on it all. When our lives are on a gravel, bumpy, washed-out path, do we squeak and rattle and groan to God? Then, when our lives are on the smooth path, are we silent? Sadly, I could only answer the questions with, "Yes." When trials and tests come our way, we spend many hours in prayer telling God what we want and asking Him to fix everything. But when things are going the way we want, we don't take the time to talk with Him at all.
(Father God, please forgive me when I forget that you are the provider of the smooth path. Help me to remember you in the good times and to thank you for them during them. In the name of Jesus, I pray. Amen.)
Monday, June 13, 2011
Bumpy Monday - Speeding Along (04/07/08)
During this weekend's travels I found myself speeding along the highway. I was convicted. Wow, it seems like such a small thing just a couple of miles over the speed limit - 67 in a 65. Yet, God used that to speak to me. It is rebellion. Rebellion against the governing laws. If I'm comfortable speeding along in defiance of the country's laws, am I also willing to continue on sinning in defiance of God's laws? Am I speeding along in my little sin ignoring God's call to obedience and repentance? That sin could be a continual lie, not providing all my tithe, gossip, undermining the authority of the scripture, drinking alcohol, cursing, or any number of things just barely over the speed limit. I slowed down those two miles per hour and set my cruise control. Now, I'm seeking to slow down the sneaky sin and let God be my cruise control. I love the way God shares with us when we are open to hear His voice.(Lord God, I pray that you will reveal the speeding sin in my life. Help me to turn to You for my cruise control. I thank you for being the govenor that keeps me from running away crazily. In Jesus name, Amen.)
Friday, June 10, 2011
Life Writing: Dodge Polara
I have a few assorted early childhood “pictures” in my mind. Some are of Head Start. One is having the cots ready for our naps and another is riding in the 1972 Dodge Polara with Mom driving and going down the really big dip in the road. The time I busted out my top four front teeth while climbing in the dirty clothes pile really was A or T's fault. One of them left the number five washtub in the mound of clothes Mom was getting ready to take to the laundry mat. When I started up the pile and pushed down on one side of the tub, the other side came up and busted me right in the chops. Two of my teeth were already loose but two weren’t quite ready to come out. They did anyway. Yeah, that's a pretty "picture".
Ninth grade, T and I both attended the new Broken Bow High School. T is in the first class to graduate from the new building. I am in the first class to complete all four high school years in it. This was the year that I read the “Count of Monte Cristo”. I have never forgotten that story. (Shiver)
Along somewhere around this time, Dad began building a house primarily by himself. It is a beautiful log home with 3 bedrooms and an outhouse. It has no electricity, is heated by wood, and the remaining utilities are run off gas. At 16 years old I thought this was horrible. We were moving back to a time in the "old" days. After we moved in, I became an expert at running over to Grandma's house each morning to take a shower and get ready for school. At least she had indoor plumbing and a place for me to use my hair dryer. Those are critical things to a teenager in the '80's. It took a long time but I finally realized that it was an incredible thing my parents did. They sacrificed so that they could have their own home and land.
During tenth grade, we moved to the boonies. Yes, the real boonies. It’s just a mile past the end of the earth which is conveniently located in McCurtain County. I got my driver’s license, barely, that year and started driving to school each day. Yup, I was driving the same 1972 Dodge Polara that Mom used to take me to Head Start way back when. I took Drivers Ed and Drafting this year. Mr. Rick Banta was our drafting teacher. His wife had been my third grade teacher. Ah, the joy of small towns.
Ninth grade, T and I both attended the new Broken Bow High School. T is in the first class to graduate from the new building. I am in the first class to complete all four high school years in it. This was the year that I read the “Count of Monte Cristo”. I have never forgotten that story. (Shiver)
Along somewhere around this time, Dad began building a house primarily by himself. It is a beautiful log home with 3 bedrooms and an outhouse. It has no electricity, is heated by wood, and the remaining utilities are run off gas. At 16 years old I thought this was horrible. We were moving back to a time in the "old" days. After we moved in, I became an expert at running over to Grandma's house each morning to take a shower and get ready for school. At least she had indoor plumbing and a place for me to use my hair dryer. Those are critical things to a teenager in the '80's. It took a long time but I finally realized that it was an incredible thing my parents did. They sacrificed so that they could have their own home and land.
During tenth grade, we moved to the boonies. Yes, the real boonies. It’s just a mile past the end of the earth which is conveniently located in McCurtain County. I got my driver’s license, barely, that year and started driving to school each day. Yup, I was driving the same 1972 Dodge Polara that Mom used to take me to Head Start way back when. I took Drivers Ed and Drafting this year. Mr. Rick Banta was our drafting teacher. His wife had been my third grade teacher. Ah, the joy of small towns.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Mercy, Mercy
Reading: Psalm 136
"... For His mercy endures forever."
Every single verse in Psalm 136 ends with the same phrase. I wonder if some One is trying to tell us some thing. How incredible and awesome to know that God's mercy goes on eternally. It has, does, and will last. Mercy is a defining trait of the one true God. It is mercy that doesn't fail, doesn't change, doesn't sway. Constant, enduring mercy comes from God alone.
Our mercy may depend upon the circumstances in which we find ourselves. For instance, on a good day we may extend mercy quickly and completely to a child that offends us. But, tomorrow when we have a headache we offer only a limited version of mercy to the bleep-bleep that can't drive properly.
What is mercy? The number one definition carries the meaning of compassionate treatment of or attitude towards an offender or adversary. Synonyms include forgiveness, indulgence, leniency, tenderness, among others. I've heard it said that mercy is not getting the punishment or consequences we deserve when we break the law or err in conduct. Oh, wow! I am so thankful and appreciate when some one shows mercy to me. Have I shown mercy today?
(Father God, Thank you for the great mercy you show me hour by hour. Please help me to show mercy to others. Help me to show true mercy and not a watered-down version which causes me to hold the error over another. Help me to forgive insults or offenses and give mercy freely. In the name of Jesus I pray, Amen.)
"... For His mercy endures forever."
Every single verse in Psalm 136 ends with the same phrase. I wonder if some One is trying to tell us some thing. How incredible and awesome to know that God's mercy goes on eternally. It has, does, and will last. Mercy is a defining trait of the one true God. It is mercy that doesn't fail, doesn't change, doesn't sway. Constant, enduring mercy comes from God alone.
Our mercy may depend upon the circumstances in which we find ourselves. For instance, on a good day we may extend mercy quickly and completely to a child that offends us. But, tomorrow when we have a headache we offer only a limited version of mercy to the bleep-bleep that can't drive properly.
What is mercy? The number one definition carries the meaning of compassionate treatment of or attitude towards an offender or adversary. Synonyms include forgiveness, indulgence, leniency, tenderness, among others. I've heard it said that mercy is not getting the punishment or consequences we deserve when we break the law or err in conduct. Oh, wow! I am so thankful and appreciate when some one shows mercy to me. Have I shown mercy today?
(Father God, Thank you for the great mercy you show me hour by hour. Please help me to show mercy to others. Help me to show true mercy and not a watered-down version which causes me to hold the error over another. Help me to forgive insults or offenses and give mercy freely. In the name of Jesus I pray, Amen.)
Monday, June 6, 2011
Bumpy Monday - Forgotten (7/29/09)
Read chapter 8 of Deuteronomy.
Did you notice how much the United States has become like the people described there? We have plenty. And, we have forgotten the commandments of God. We are in a good land. Yet, we have forgotten that He is a holy God. We eat sumptuously. But, we have forgotten that He is a just God. We have a land that brings forth much produce. Still, we have forgotten He is a jealous God. We are full. None the less, we have forgotten that He is a perfect God. We are wealthy. And, we have forgotten He is a living God. By forgetting all these things about God, we are making our own false god.
It is our turn to pray as Moses did in the next chapter (9:18, 26-27). We must pray that we will not be destroyed. We must pray for remembrance. We must pray for mercy. I wonder what "work" God will do to the USA if we are subjected to Psalm 119:126 because we have made God's law void.
(Father God, I thank You for the bountiful land that You have provided these United States. I bless You for the good land which You have given us. I am thankful that we have eaten and are full. I praise you for the water, the wheat, and the honey. Oh, Father God, it is Your power that has made this possible. It is Your power that has made us wealthy. Please remember us and grant us mercy because we have forgotten You. I remember You, O LORD. I remember to walk in Your ways and to fear You. In the name of Jesus I pray, Amen.)
Friday, June 3, 2011
Life Writing: Beekeeping
I remember watching Dad walk though Grandma E's field sowing Vetch seed because he read the bees would make good honey off of it. You see, one of Dad's hobbies was beekeeping. His hobby became a hazard in our lives when it was time to extract honey. But, it was also a freedom when we could watch with awe the bees in the observation hive.
Dad's observation hive was under the Osage Orange tree in the front yard. This tree is also known by the common name bodark, an altered version of the French "bois d'arc". We also called it the "horse apple" tree. This was a dangerous location as the thorns of the tree are painful and the horse apples hurt when they fall on you.
We normally didn't check in on the bees during the winter as they would be balled up trying to stay warm but spring time was a different story. Those worker bees would be dancing and gathering nectar while the drones just lazed about. We could watch through the glass as the workers drew out the honey comb and filled it with pollen or nectar. Then, they would cap over their food storage.
There was an added excitement when we were able to spot the queen. She was slightly larger than the other workers with an extended abdomen. She stayed busy laying eggs. If the honey comb cell had an egg in it, it would be capped over so the egg would hatch and develop. Bees are pretty efficient at keeping things organized. Rarely would there be brood (developing larvae), pollen, and honey intermixed on a frame.
Late summer was when we would harvest the honey from the hives. This was an activity that took place inside and by hand. Dad, Mom, A, and T all took turns at the extractor. Yes, I took a turn or two also but not near as many as they did. The extractor was a large round tub open on the top with wire baskets on the inside and a turn handle. Dad would go out to the hive, smoke most of the bees away from the frame, place it in a temporary box and, when the box was full, bring it in the house. Once in the house, Mom or Dad would cut the caps (which served as a tasty treat) off the honey and place a frame in one of the two baskets of the extractor. Then, the crank would be turned which caused the wire baskets to go round and round. As the baskets went faster and faster, the honey would be slung out of the frames and collect in the holding tank. Mom would then fill the jars from the holding tank.
It was beautiful sight to see the golden honey in the jar with light glistening off of it. Some years we would work a booth at the County fair selling the honey. Though, it was for our own use most of the time. You see, we didn’t buy much sugar and honey sure does give Kool Aid a unique taste. Most of the time I was okay with this hobby, it was only when an angry bee jumped on a hand, arm, or face and stung me that I really didn’t like it.
Dad's observation hive was under the Osage Orange tree in the front yard. This tree is also known by the common name bodark, an altered version of the French "bois d'arc". We also called it the "horse apple" tree. This was a dangerous location as the thorns of the tree are painful and the horse apples hurt when they fall on you.
We normally didn't check in on the bees during the winter as they would be balled up trying to stay warm but spring time was a different story. Those worker bees would be dancing and gathering nectar while the drones just lazed about. We could watch through the glass as the workers drew out the honey comb and filled it with pollen or nectar. Then, they would cap over their food storage.
There was an added excitement when we were able to spot the queen. She was slightly larger than the other workers with an extended abdomen. She stayed busy laying eggs. If the honey comb cell had an egg in it, it would be capped over so the egg would hatch and develop. Bees are pretty efficient at keeping things organized. Rarely would there be brood (developing larvae), pollen, and honey intermixed on a frame.
Late summer was when we would harvest the honey from the hives. This was an activity that took place inside and by hand. Dad, Mom, A, and T all took turns at the extractor. Yes, I took a turn or two also but not near as many as they did. The extractor was a large round tub open on the top with wire baskets on the inside and a turn handle. Dad would go out to the hive, smoke most of the bees away from the frame, place it in a temporary box and, when the box was full, bring it in the house. Once in the house, Mom or Dad would cut the caps (which served as a tasty treat) off the honey and place a frame in one of the two baskets of the extractor. Then, the crank would be turned which caused the wire baskets to go round and round. As the baskets went faster and faster, the honey would be slung out of the frames and collect in the holding tank. Mom would then fill the jars from the holding tank.
It was beautiful sight to see the golden honey in the jar with light glistening off of it. Some years we would work a booth at the County fair selling the honey. Though, it was for our own use most of the time. You see, we didn’t buy much sugar and honey sure does give Kool Aid a unique taste. Most of the time I was okay with this hobby, it was only when an angry bee jumped on a hand, arm, or face and stung me that I really didn’t like it.
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